Whatever it takes
by FrankieMittens
Summary: Sherlock is in the midst of something he cannot quite grasp. John is puzzled by the detective s behavior. What will Sherlock do in order to find out what is going on? The man is, after all, a sociopath.
1. Chapter 1

Right, so. First Sherlock FF, and first thing I´ve written in many, many years, so please be gentle. I may continue this, depending if you see it´s worth it, so please, all comments are welcomed.

Will, most likely if continued, take the direction of slash so if that´s not your cup of tea, don´t torture yourself.

Also English is not my 1st language, so any mistakes with the language are due to that.

All the usual disclaimers apply, naturally.

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><p>Watson thought he had woken up to the slight creak of the door.<p>

He lay in the darkness which was practically pitch-black – November in London does that – with his eyes open and his breath as light as possible. He knew, where there someone in the room, they would be able to tell his transition from sleep to awake by the change in his breath.

He heard absolutely nothing, the silence was as complete as the darkness. When he cleared his throat it sounded like an explosion, and his voice, even when kept low, intruded the quiet like an air raid.

"Hello? Is somebody there?"

Nothing. The silence swallowed his words and ensued as if they never were.

John sighed and closed his eyes. It would have not been the first time he had woken up to an imaginary noises resulting from his own restless dreams, haunted still by the flashbacks of the war that had scarred him on the inside.

He turned to his side, and just as he did so he heard how someone moved in the room, synchronizing the moment of movement with the ruffle of the sheets.

John jumped up. "Who´s there?" Images of war flashed into his mind, attacks during night, and suddenly he was fully awake.

The reply came with a voice so soothing and deep it seemed to materialize from the darkness.

"Calm down, Watson, it´s only me".

And like his voice, so materialized the man as well – suddenly John saw Sherlock as clearly as it would have been day. His dark hair was slightly messy and his eyes looked slightly tired, yet there was a glint to them which revealed he was fully alert. He was wearing a robe and was bare-feet; in his hand he had a book John recognized as his.

"Sherlock, what on earth?"

He was startled by his own voice, it sounded thick and felt stuck in his throat. He realized his heart was beating slightly faster, and signed it off as a result of the unexpected wake-up and his body´s natural response to the thought of being threatened. Once a soldier, always a soldier.

Sherlock looked at him, tilting his head ever so slightly you couldn´t tell if it was there or not, and made a face which John assumed was supposed to resemble a smile.

"Sorry to have woken you, I tried to be quiet – just needed to check something from this book of yours." He waved the book nonchalantly in his hand.

John didn´t remove his stare from his eyes.

"Really? What could you possibly need to know from that subject?"

Sherlock glanced down and saw he was holding a self-help book about quitting drinking, a copy John had purchased earlier during the day for Harriet from her request and which had been waiting for shipping on John´s desk.

"Yes, I wanted to... I thought it´d help me to figure out something about this case I`m working on." There was no surprise or hesitation in his voice, as if it were perfectly normal to sneak around in his flatmate´s room in the middle of the night borrowing cheap new-age books John new he wouldn´t use even as a paperweight for the sheer stupidity of them.

"...Right." He wasn´t fooled for a second that the book would have been the real reason Sherlock was in his room, and he knew that he knew.

A few seconds they were locked like that, Sherlock standing less than two meters from his bed, he sitting there upright, tense, trying to figure out what was going on, their eyes never leaving the stare that bind them together and made the moment seem much longer than in it reality was.

John was suddenly very aware of the beating of his heart which seemed not to have slowed down but on the contrary, gained more momentum.

It was Sherlock who snapped out first, jerking his head back a bit as if waking up from deep thoughts.

"Yes, that´s it. My apologizies again for the disturbance. I´ll leave you be, then." While speaking his eyes strayed ever so slightly from John´s and travelled on his naked torso, visible from the waist up as he sat there, bewildered. It was fast, so fast he almost couldn´t be sure it was there, but John was able to sense it – not as much see in the darkness as feel it, his gaze running on him almost like fingers, burning and cooling at the same time.

Sherlock turned around on his heels and with two long steps was on the door, opened it without a sound and vanished from it to the equally dark corridor. He was gone so fast it almost felt he never was there, and for a second John wondered if it was indeed just a dream. Throwing himself on his back he let out a sigh and put his hands on his face, which felt hot under his palms.

Thoughts ran through his head, so fast and fierce he couldn´t even dream of capturing them, burning his brains as they made their way to the depths of his mind. He still felt it, his eyes on his skin, and his beating heart which could no longer have been explained by the startling wake-up. He felt the heat of his own skin, and for one fleeting moment he wondered whether Sherlock´s hands on him would provide an ease for this burn or if they would lit him on fire. Then the thought vanished from his conscious mind and gave room to the slumber which was already crawling in, dragging Watson into oblivion.

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><p>Behind the door, only meters away, Sherlock rested his head on the wall, his hands supporting him on the level of his shoulders. The surface felt cool and steady and he desperately needed something solid to lean on.<p>

The book of bullshit he had snatched in order to cover up his intrusion to John´s room lay on the coffee table behind him where it would remain; Sherlock had zero interest for it.

He did not know what had gone into him. For a few times now he had done the same, went into his room in the hour he knew sleep was deepest, just stood there in the dark and looked at Watson. With all his analytic capabilities he could not see what made him behave this way, it was as if there were a force external of him that ordered him to devour the sight of the sleeping man.

He would need to think about it, truly. It was unacceptable of him to behave like this, in such an irrational way, and now, after almost being caught, he was determined to get to the bottom of this.

He would do what ever it would take.

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><p>Like it? Hate it? Please share your opinion, thank you.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

am slightly discouraged by the lack of feedback, but still decided to continue for a bit. Please let me know your thoughts, I would very much appreciate. i do have an idea where this is going, so it might get more interesting in some point :)

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><p>The following morning dawned cold and cruel, accompanied with a wind so strong loose objects smaller to a stray dog were in danger of being blown away. John lay in his bead and listened to the sounds the wind caused as it made the environment alive on a new level; creaks, bangs, howls. The wind moved around in the world, poking and pulling and pushing, and the environment responded.<p>

New stimulus, new reaction.

He allowed his mind stray to the events of the night before. There was no escaping that they made him confused. He couldn´t quite put his finger on Sherlock´s behavior, and the fact alone that this puzzled him made him even more lost; during the two years they had shared an address he had learnt that nothing was beyond him, and even though sometimes surprised or taken aback by the detective´s actions, he was very rarely confused by them. Sherlock never did anything which didn´t have a point or serve a purpose.

So why had he been in his room the previous night?

Sherlock being quite particular about his own privacy John found it extremely odd of him to invade his in such a way. Not that he was upset about it per se, but it felt out of place.

_...he´s a psychopath.. One day there will be a body and it will be Shelock Holmes who put it there.._

Donovan´s snippy comments from way back re-entered his conscious mind, and as fast as they arose as fast John pushed them away. One thing he knew was that Sherlock would never do such a thing, as strange as he might be, and to him of all people.. No, it was absurd to even think about it.

Wasn´t it?

Sighing heavily he throw his legs over the bedside and got up. He had a long day ahead at the clinic and he surely didn´t need any unnecessary thoughts rumaging through his mind while working.

As he made his way to the bathroom he spotted Sherlock lying on the couch on his side, his face towards the wall. The tall man had his legs curled in a way which seemed extremely uncomfortable, and John caught himself hoping he hadn´t slept in that position all night through. As he didn´t appear to be awake, John said nothing but tiptoed his way to the shower, leaving Sherlock be. In another situation he might have woken him up and hushed him into bed, but given the oddity of the previous night he thought better otherwise.

Had John had a view on the pale face of the apparently sleeping genius, he had saw that he was in actual fact not sleeping at all. His eyes were open, with an alert look in them as he listened John making his way to the bathroom. Sherlock had no intention of giving away his state of consciousness, so he just lay there, listening as the door close and water started running. He imagined John taking a shower, brushing his teeth, shaving, getting ready for the day´s what to Sherlock seemed relatively mundane work. They would have been able to live on the crime solving, it may have not provided a steady income but the pockets of grateful people were sometimes surprisingly deep. Yet John insisted on holding on to the clinic work; Sherlock suspected it was mainly cos of the woman. They had had a fling two years back but it never seemed to have developed anywhere – Sherlock hadn´t asked why, matters of the heart did not interest him the slightest.

Whatever the reason, three times a week John dutifully made his way to the clinic and served his time. Now, as Sherlock heard he was getting ready to leave, he suddenly felt odd about it.

_What is this?_

Stomping down the stairs as he did John would´ve surely woken Sherlock up had he been dozing; yet, the detective decided to play the part of the sleeping beauty no matter how obvious it may have seemed.

"Sherlock?"

John´s voice was questioning, low, soft, almost hesitant.

Sherlock remained still as only he could, in no way giving away the fact that he was as awake as Watson.

John looked at the line of his shoulder extending into his back. The cold morning light slowly creeping inside made the setting seem somehow sad, like from a forgotten world; the tall, lean man on the couch, his hair ruffled and body covered with what seemed to be a robe made of some thin fabric, breathing evenly, his torso slowly caressed by the weak mornig sun.

_Still life with a sociopath and a skull_

With that fleeting thought John gave up, turned around and left.

On the couch, Sherlock´s eyes stared blankly without blinking as a theory was starting to form in his brain. A theory of what was going on, and how he could prove himself right... or wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

After the clinic hours John was sitting in the break room, absent-minded, browsing through yesterday`s paper. There was nothing of interest there, as the had not been for a while at least mystery-wise. The last time he and Sherlock – well, to be honest mostly Sherlock – had given a helping hand to the police force was nearly a month ago. Even John started to be a bit bored, so he could only imagine how the much more restless part of the duo was doing.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Sarah.

"John? What are you still doing here, I thought you finished ages ago?"

It was still somehow odd between them, not awkward but it always felt to John there were unsaid words lingering in the air whenever they were in a room alone. He had never been quite able to figure out why it hadn´t worked between them; she was an attractive, intelligent woman who shared many of his interests and seemed to understand him. He liked her, and when they had started dating two years ago, he had gotten the impression she had liked him as well. Of course there was the incident in which she nearly got herself killed, but that couldn´t have been the reason why their dates fell more and more scarce and she more and more distant. Then one day she had told him with a quiet, almost apologetic voice that she thought they should only be friends and nothing more. When John had inquired the reason she had just mumbled something about different priorities, and John had let it be.

"Sarah, hi. I´m just resting my brains a bit, am off soon."

He stopped, not knowing how to continue, He had never been a man of words when it came to women, and the history between them didn´t make it any easier for him.

"How´ve you been, then?"

The question was a bit useless, given the last time they talked was in the morning when organising the shifts for next week.

Sarah looked at him and smiled. She looked tired.

"All good, John. And yourself?"

John was about to answer something mundane, but stopped himself before speaking. How was he, actually? Lately he´d felt restless and like something was amiss; he had chalked it off to lacking interesting things to do. But that wasn´t true at all as he did have those, at least to the extent he was accustomed to. John was not like Sherlock, he didn´t need a murder to keep himself content. So it was something else, but he couldn´t quite put his finger on what. It almost felt he was missing out on something, yearning for something he couldnt quite reach – but what?

"Sarah, I .. You wouldn`t want to have a drink, would you?" He felt he needed to talk with someone.

_someone normal_

Sarah looked at her and he thought she seemed a bit surprised, but in a good way. He could have imagined it as well, of course.

"Now?" She looked at him, squinted her eyes a bit as if trying to figure out where his suggestion was coming from. "Alright John, we´ll have a drink."

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><p>As they sat down in the corner table of the small pub close to the clinic and ordered their drinks, the vagueness John had felt earlier seemed to have dissipated a bit. He felt relaxed, and in the dim light he realized how pretty Sarah actually was. They had a nice night, chatted about light things, shared some laughs and got a bit tipsy. The atmosphere was good, they were enjoying each other´s company, everything seemed all right in the world.<p>

It was John´s abrupt question, thrown in the air in a seemingly nonchalant way which finally shook the smoothness a bit.

"Sarah, what happened between us? Why didn´t we work out?"

She looked at him, surprised look in her face second time that night, and smiled a smile which had a hint of sadness in it.

"Why do you ask this now, John? It has been a really long time."

They both knew he wasn´t trying to recapture an old flame; he was merely interested.

"I don´t know, I guess I.. We.. Well what I mean is that we get along fine, and this is nice.. Was there someone else? I don´t mind, seriously, I´m just intrigued.."

His voice faded off. John wasn´t really good at this kind of conversations, and he scolded himself for starting one in the first place. What did it matter anymore?

Sarah just kept looking at him, smiling that small smile of hers. She took her time to reply, and when she finally did her voice bore the same melancholy as her expression.

"I guess there was John, now that you asked.. I guess there really was someone else involved. That´s why it never could have worked between us."

She looked at him, and her eyes were very clear and calm. They shared a moment like that, John trying to figure out how her confession made him feel – they weren´t serious at the time, but still, it stung much more than he would have expected to hear that she had had someone else.

"Well, that was honest."

He glanced at his watch and cleared his throat.

"I guess I should be going then, it´s getting late.. "

He knew he was behaving childishly he had asked, after all, he should have been prepared for an unwanted answer as well - but didn´t actually care so much in that point. The alcohol in his veins amplified all his emotions, and the sting he felt over the other man got much more emphasis in him than it would have in a normal situation.

Sarah just kept her calm eyes on her as he got up and put his jacket on.

"Well, good night then, I´ll see you at the clinic on Thursday.. Thanks for your company, it was lovely..."

Sarah smiled an odd, gentle smile.

"John..."

"Hm?" A bleep in his pocket informed that a text message had been received.

"It wasn´t me who had someone else, it was you."

John knew he looked confused. "Me? But I wasn´t seeing anyone else at the time!"

Sarah shook her head, got up as well and walked to him. "No, you were living with someone."

She kissed him on the cheek and left, leaving him standing there in an utter bewilderment.

_Sherlock? What?_

He took his phone from his pocket and looked at the white letters glowing on the dark background.

**"Please come.**

**SH"**


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you _so_ much for the feedback, I´m ridiculously excited to write fanfiction again - has been about 10 years :)

Going away for a week so ch5 won´t be up before that - hope you´re still keen on reading more after that :)

Thank you again for reading!

ML

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><p>As John was walking towards home – he had decided to take the slow way so as to get some time to think, and sober his head up a bit as well – it started to rain. Big, heavy drops of water splashed to the ground around him and on him, and the halo around the lamps of the lamp posts looked as if the air around it was scarred.<p>

It didn´t bother him really, the rain; he was accustomed to tolerate inconvenience as much as one can be. Or better, he had the skill to respond to them on a level which was the most suitable; most things causing nuisance of discomfort that he encountered he was able to put behind him, accept them as a part of the current circumstances and adjust himself accordingly. This is why he had never been able to understand why people bothered talking and better yet, complaining, about something like the weather. The same characteristic had also allowed him to distance himself from the deaths of his friends and colleagues during the war and eventually move on.

Because John Watson knew there are things you have no power over.

All this made him a man many would have described as calm, and for the most part this was true. He was in no means emotionally cold, just had reason in him, the sense of proportion. This is why when at times something got through his layer of calm it always felt like an invasion of the most severe kind; he was so unaccustomed to the feeling of being truly and utterly moved or disturbed by something he didn´t quite always know how to deal with it. These incidents were few in number, and whenever they took place it was due to something very uncommon.

Now he did, however, experience a disturbance of the most serious kind.

What Sarah had said in the pub bothered him immensely.

"_It wasn´t me who had someone else.. It was you"_

What troubled John Watson was not the words themselves or even the suggestion they contained, but his own reaction to it. He knew in his rational mind he should have been able to pass her remark as he had passed many others implying that he and Sherlock shared more than the rent – it was certainly not the first time someone would have brought the subject of the nature of their relationship up.

The difference here was that Sarah wasn´t just anybody. She was a friend - granted that she came with a past but still – she had no reasons to be nasty or throw a comment like that for sake of her own amusement. If Anderson or Donovan or even Mycroft made a weak attempt to imply they were lovers, it mattered very little as those were comments made out of ulterior motives, whether it be ridicule, insecurity, antipathy, whatever. Sarah, however, knew him, and wasn´t the kind of person who tried to deliberately shook people with her comments.

So the only logical explanation to why she had said what she had was that she truly thought so, that she really had interpreted the situation at the time so that there were feelings beyond friendship between John and Sherlock.

And the possibility of this made John very shaky, together with the realisation that when she had said what she had he hadn´t felt like he should have - that she was completely off, ridiculous, exaggerating.

What he had felt was actually a rush of nervousness, the type of what you might feel when you spot your high school crush from ten years back walking your way. He had also felt something akin to realisation, a moment of clarity, and at that moment in his mind he had seen the face of Sherlock and that face was dear. And at the same time he was horrified about this, scared of the distinct possibility of what was looming in the back of his mind – that there was something, that he had feelings he hadn´t realised before, and what it would mean if those feelings were true and revealed.

So he was very shaken indeed, trying to make some sense into all this while slowly making his way towards 221b Baker Street. He knew he´d have to sort it out by himself before making an entrance; Sherlock would see through his state of mind in a flash and although usually quite ok with him keeping irrelevant things to his own, wouldn´t miss out an opportunity to pick out his brain in order to find out what it was that had gotten him so off balance.

And that was something John couldn´t allow, not now.

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><p>Back in Baker Street Sherlock was sitting in the now darkened living room as he had the most of the day, seemingly still. Inside his head it was not still, however, more like everything but.<p>

That morning after John had left for work Sherlock had tried to approach the situation at hand from different angles. What was clear was that there was something amiss, something bothering him in terms of John Watson. He wasn´t quite able to pinpoint the exact moment in time when this change in his attitude towards john had occurred; therefore he concluded it had taken place slowly, building up in the course of time. Nobody notices a water drop on a ground but when you have enough of them, it becomes a stream one can drown into.

And this is exactly how Sherlock was feeling, drowning into something he couldn´t yet comprehend, and it made him restless, and unsure of himself – something which hadn´t happened in a very, very long time.

So he had thought about it, what it could´ve have been in Watson and in their co-existence that bothered him so. Did he not trust him anymore? That couldn´t be it, John had never given him any reason to doubt him during the whole time they had known each other. On the contrary. Had he somehow then grew irritated by the presence of another human being? He had always been a loner, never fond of long-term company, due to the fact that the stupidity of the rest of the human kind more often than not irritated him. And, of course, there was that fact that nobody never really wanted to spend time with him.

Except John. Sherlock couldn´t say he would have been annoyed by him - even though not as clever as him – obviously – John possessed other qualities which made him intriguing, almost enigmatic. For starters, he never wanted to please Sherlock or strive for his acceptance, as so many other did. John didn´t seem to care he was intellectually inferior to him, and never tried to prove his own mental capabilities – which Sherlock very well knew were there. In addition he openly admitted he was fascinated by Sherlock´s genius, but without the appalling puppy-like awe he encountered too often; John merely accepted his brilliance and appreciated it accordingly, no more and no less.

So it was not irritation due to Watson´s character or existence either.

What was it, then?

And how to get rid of it?

What does one do when one faces a nuisance? Eliminates the cause of it. So therefore the logical answer to the dilemma would be to determine the co-habitation and remove John Watson from his daily life.

His eyebrows frowned ever so slightly to the thought. He caught himself doing so – _interesting._

Getting rid of John was, after all, the most logical and reasonable solution. But when subjected to the possibility, he didn´t find it pleasing, and this realisation made Sherlock even more puzzled. He had never in his life considered a fellow human being as something that couldn´t be replaced or substituted. He knew John Watson wasn´t irreplaceable either, as difficult a person as Sherlock might have been, he knew he´d be able to find another flatmate.

_Another John?_

The tall man got up in one, brisk movement. This would not do, occupying his brain with these unnecessary thoughts and wondering what it was he was experiencing. It seldom happened Sherlock wasn´t able to focus; now, it seemed to be more like a rule. Something needed to be done, and it had to be done immediately. He took his phone and sent the short message to the familiar number; then, he sat back down on the couch and waited.

He knew now what he had to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the gap between chapters, was away with no time to sit down and write. I appreciate you reading and reviewing immensly, thank you so very much!

Hope you like the chapter, please spare a moment to comment if you will :)

ML

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><p>When John arrived to the door of 221b Baker Street he was more or less in charge of himself. He had spent a good while walking in circles, both literally and figuratively, trying to come up with some sort of conclusions or solutions for the dilemma at hand. There was no denying what Sarah had said wouldn´t have had an impact - a strong one - on him; this must have meant that there had been at least some level of truth in her perception.<p>

Of course he cared about Sherlock, deeply; this much he was ready to admit. How could he not, after everything they had gone through together? It was only to be expected. What was more difficult was the task he had to face now; to question the very nature of these feelings and understand what it meant if he indeed felt something beyond friendship towards his emotionally dysfunctional flatmate.

He would need some more time to process all of this, but couldn´t allow Sherlock to figure out something was bothering him. So he had took his time despite the fact he had asked him to come back, in order to gain control and put all the mess in his head into a box with a lid. Now, as he had, he could face him and hand him his phone or whatever else it was that the consultive detective needed this time.

The door loomed in front of him in the dark, appearing much bigger than it really was, and for a while he felt a very strong urge to walk away. He closed his eyes for a bit, feeling the rain on his somewhat hot face. His heart felt as if it were beating right behind his closed eyelids.

_thumb thumb thumb_

John Watson took a deep breath, opened his eyes and stepped in.

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><p>Sherlock heard the door open, abruptly, almost as if slightly too much force and determination had been used. He was sitting on the couch, chin resting on his clutched fists. His body felt tense, and he was able to sense an upcoming headache due to the not-so-ergonomic posture he had spent his day in. The room was dark save for the light reflecting through the window from the lamppost outside.<p>

Sherlock listened, his head slightly tilted, the sounds coming from the staircase. Step, step, creak - one of the planks was slightly loose and made a sound whenever John stepped on it (Sherlock knew to step so that it didn´t) - step, step - and then silence. He knew John to be standing outside the door, and very briefly was puzzled by this gesture which seemed almost like a hesitation, but then stored the notion somewhere in the back of his brain.

Because at that moment the door was open and John was there. Sherlock saw his figure standing against the brightly lit hallway, and knew that he hadn´t spotted him yet, camouflaged to the couch like a hunter waiting for his prey. Sherlock chose to stay quiet then and watched as John, slightly surprised by the darkness of the room and apparently thinking Sherlock wasn´t home after all, turned his head from one side to another and fumbled for the light switch. During those few seconds it took Watson to finish the task Sherlock spent observing him as if trying to get the final clues to the question why he was in the midst of this confusion.

John Watson wasn´t the tallest of men, but his frame was well-formed and posture straight, and in his movements was always a hint of certain determination. Like he always knew what he was doing, or at least his body knew. Sherlock found this enticing, to an extent he had more than once wondered what would John Watson do if he were thrown in a physical situation completely unexpected to him - would the same determination remain, or would something completely new arise? Could John be thrown off balance?

Sherlock was in this thought when the light came on, so bright it was almost violent. He didn´t even blink.

John, on the other hand did, but was it because of the light or because of the surprise of seeing the tall, thin man he had spent the good half of the night thinking about remained unclear even to himself. Sherlock had positioned himself on the couch, gracefully like a cat, his piercing eyes nailed into him, and suddenly John´s mouth felt dry and the beating of his heart was back as loud as ever.

"Sherlock? What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?" He did his utmost best to sound casual and thought he managed quite well.

Sherlock took his time before replying, and when he did his voice was deep and slightly coarse as if not been used for days.

"Thinking."

John sneered to the obviousness of it. "Of course."

He took a few steps towards the still motionless Sherlock but thought then otherwise and remained standing in a distance from him, next to the fireplace. He saw his eyes following him as he made his way across the room.

"You asked me to come."

Sherlock made a face which could have been labelled as some kind of smile although John was quite sure it wasn´t one.

"Yes, I did."

He stood up then, straightening his lean frame. He was wearing the same robe as he had that morning, John noted with mild interest, and he wondered briefly if Sherlock had spent the whole day indoors.

"I asked you to come because I need to talk to you about something."

"Oh?"

The conversation paused there, and looking at Sherlock John suddenly realized that he was looking for words. Sherlock Holmes didn´t know what to say. Sherlock Holmes was... nervous?

"What is it, then?"

When Sherlock spoke again, his voice was a bit more quiet than it usually was, and lacked the sharp rhythm it usually held. It was soft, so soft it almost sounded sad, but John knew Sherlock was practically incapable of being sad - like any other human emotion, sadness let Sherlock Holmes be. Or so John thought.

"John, I.." He paused again, and for an instant John thought he saw something in his eyes, a flicker of something he didn´t have a name for, but then it was gone and he spoke again.

"I need you to move out, John, as fast as possible."

The words struck him like a hit into the stomach, and for a few seconds he didn´t understand what he meant. He narrowed his eyes and pouted his lips ever so slightly as he often did when confused. "You need what?" It seemed incomprehensible to him, and he was shocked to realize how much it shook him to even consider the possibility f having to have to leave Baker Street. And how much it hurt that he wanted him out.

Sherlock looked at him very calmly, and in his eyes were no sign of any kind of emotion. "You have to leave, John. I´m sorry for the short notice, but you must. I can´t live like this anymore, my work is jeopardized, I..

John cut in there, anger in his voice he hadn´t recognized he felt. "Your work is jeopardized? Your WORK? By what? My existence interferes with your genius? Christ, Sherlock, I know you can be selfish prick but isn´t this just a bit too much?" He wasn´t shouting but wasn´t far from it.

"I see you´re upset, John, and there is really no need for that."

"No need? You´re trying to kick me out from my home for no reason?"

""It´s not your home alone and there is a reason."

"Yes, that´s right, your work. If you wouldn´t mind explaining to me then how does it exactly bother you having me live here, as it has not seemingly bothered you during the last two years?"

Sherlock walked to the window and looked out for a while before turning his eyes back to John. There was only some meters between them but it could have been hundreds of kilometers; the two men had never been more apart. They stood like that for a while, John visibly upset and Sherlock visibly not, both of them holding their ground and not looking away.

"John, please. I wouldn´t ask if I didn´t absolutely have to. I can´t work anymore with you living here, and without my work I can´t live. Therefore I must ask you to leave, and not to come back."

It shocked John how formal Sherlock seemed, as if the subject of cutting off his friend for two years mattered very little if not at all to him. John knew Sherlock was on a very different emotional level than most of the mankind, but it still devasteted him how apparently easy delivering this information was to him.

And then he understood that he had no place being upset about it. Sherlock was what he was, and it was john´s own mistake to have imagined that he would´ve had some special value in his eyes. He truly was a sociopath, John saw that now, and regretted to have thought otherwise.

"Just like that, Sherlock?" His chest felt tight but John´s voice was calm now, even though it took everything he had to keep it that way.

"Just like that... John." Sherlock´s voice was so deep, so soft. It felt like a caressing hand but for John that hand had claws.

They looked at it each other and then, without a word, John turned around and walked out.

When the door slammed shut Sherlock knew in an instant that much more had been lost than he had bargained for.


	6. Chapter 6

Long chapter! Hope is not boring. This´ll be the last one, will probably do a small epilogue though as well. Please spare a moment to tell me how you found this story, would be much much much appreciated! First Sherlock fic so more than willing to get the feedback :)

ML

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><p>It had been almost three weeks since Sherlock had asked - told - John to leave. Or rather 19 days, 20 hours, 26 minutes and some seconds on top. The outcome of the action he had felt compelled to do was not what he had presumed. In a matter of fact it had only made things worse as now he was not capable of putting the moment in question behind him. All he was able to think was the look on John´s face, the ever so slight slump in his posture and the anger and hurt he had heard in his voice.<p>

For the first time in his life Sherlock was sorry about doing something; for the first time ever he had regrets.

He had spent the time after John´s departure mostly indoors, interrupted only once by Lestrade who had came to inquire whether Sherlock would want to hold a speech in an upcoming seminar - he had quickly made his exit after barely dodging the vase hurled towards him - and three times by Mrs. Hudson who had met not flying objects but sulking consultative detective who refused almost any kind of verbal expression when questioned about John.

It was entirely new for him, to wish he would have done something otherwise. So weird, in fact, that at first he had not recognized the feeling or understood what it meant. At first, when John had walked out of the door and Sherlock had expected to feel a surge of relief - problem solved - and it had not arrived, he had been truly confused. Later on, when the relief still failed to present itself Sherlock found himself to be more and more tense and unable to concentrate on practically anything but the very moment he had said the words he had and what had followed. He re-lived the situation over and over and over again, trying to figure out where he went wrong as the outcome was what he had hoped for; and then, after 2 days and 15 hours and 4 minutes of thinking about it, it dawned to him that he wished he wouldn´t have done what he did.

The feeling of regret was completely new to him, and for a while he marveled the weight of it and how absolute its control over his mind was. But still, even though he now saw that it might have been a mistake to send John off, his peace of mind did not return, which by all reasoning should have happened. Usually, when his head was off balance, he merely needed to find the reason for it and he was able to move on; now, even though he understood he had been in the wrong, he did not feel liberated fro the weight on his chest and from the constant thoughts of John. It didn´t occur to him that he actually missed John for he had never in his life missed anyone, and therefore failed to recognize the feeling.

So he remained indoors, staring at the walls, thoughts running rapidly behind his seemingly blank eyes. He didn´t eat and slept very little, and it was after that almost three weeks when Mrs. Hudson finally decided to do something about the matter.

The knock on the door was determined. Sherlock didn´t move, just glanced towards the door.

"Sherlock? Are you in, dear?" Mrs. Hudson´s voice bore the same determination than her knock had, perhaps with a hint of compassion in it.

Sherlock didn´t reply, knowing she would help herself in anyway. As she did, with no little effort as she was carrying a tray with a cup of tea, sandwiches and something which appeared to be a slice of cake of some sorts. She looked at him disapprovingly as he made no gesture to help her, and made her way to the couch on which he was sitting. She slammed the tray down, erected herself and stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, looking very stern, and in her voice was the steadiness brought about the strongest of determination of woman in the right.

"Now, mister, you will eat, and then we will talk."

Sherlock looked at her under his brows. "Mrs. Hudson." His voice conveyed of controlled annoyance which could not, however, remain like that for long.

Mrs. Hudson leaned a bit towards him and shook her head ever so slightly. "Don´t give me that, Sherlock. Not now." She took the tea cup and a sandwich and pushed them almost to his face. "Eat."

Grunting, Sherlock took the offered items only to place them back to the tray. "I am not hungry, Mrs. Hudson. And as I recall, you´re not my housekeeper."

Mrs. Hudson took the cup and the sandwich back into her hands and showed them again to him. "Today, dear, I am, and you. Will. Eat." She cocked her head a bit and gave him a little, sweet smile. "Or I will take your skull, and shatter it into thousand pieces."

Sherlock looked at her and wasn´t entirely sure if she meant the one on the fireplace or the one on his shoulders. Either way, as it appeared the only way to get rid of her was to amuse her, he yielded, took the offerings and sighed. "Fine."

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><p>After reluctantly downing two sandwiches, a cup of tea and a half a slice of cake under the supervising eye of Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock lifted his hands up as in defense and leaned his back to the couch. "Done. Happy?" He wouldn´t have admitted it but it felt physically slightly better now.<p>

Mrs. Hudson, sitting opposite to him with her hands on her lap, smirked. "Not at all, Sherlock. Now we talk."

"About what?" His reluctance was more than obvious.

"Don´t pretend to be stupid, dear. About John"

"I don´t want to talk about John." He glanced at her, sourly. "Or anything else for that matter."

"I don´t care if you don´t want to. I can do the talking."

"I´m sure you can, Mrs. Hudson. Whether I´m inclined to listen is a completely another matter."

"Oh, but you will listen. I´ve had it with this sulking and moping. You said something to John which made him leave, didn´t you Sherlock? No, shut your mouth, I´m talking." Sherlock, who had been about to say something, closed his mouth with an audible snap. "You said something to John and now John is gone. And look at the state of you! Poor dear, sitting here in the dark all day, not showing your nose out of the door, and all because of what? Because you´re stubborn, that´s why, just like my husband used to be, and I always told him that he should snap out of it, and whenever-"

"Mrs. Hudson." He cut in to save himself from a lengthy memoir of the late Mr. Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson leaned over and took his hand between her own. If she noticed how he flinched a bit she didn´t show it. "All I´m saying dear, is that you just go and apologize to John and it will all be good. He was so sad when he was here, I just saw it on his poor face, and I-"

Again she was interrupted, this time more abruptly. "John was here? When?"

Mrs. Hudson looked like she had revealed something she shouldn´t have. "Oh, just some days ago... He popped in to get some of his things, you see, but when I told you´d be upstairs he didn´t want them after all."

A shadow was cast on his face, and he took his hand back from hers. "Did he say anything else?"

The landlady shook her head. "No, dear, but he seemed to be quite a bit upset. Oh Sherlock, why don´t you just stop over and apologize what ever you it is you said? I can´t bare to see the two of you like this."

Sherlock shook his head, slowly, and looked out from the window behind which the night was creeping in. "I asked him to leave, Mrs. Hudson." Turning his eyes back to her he was able to catch the surprise on her face. "So you see why it would be rather odd for me to go and apologize for that."

"But you want him back here, don´t you?"

He sneered. "That hardly matters. Besides, it doesn´t make any difference, the situation remains the same. Having him here bothers me in a way I cannot explain, and now that he is not here I am also bothered. So either way, I lose."

Mrs. Hudson smiled a bit. "You poor man, so brilliant and yet so thick."

Sherlock look almost hurt. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You´re lovesick, Sherlock."

The silence that followed was as complete as the expression of shock on Sherlock´s face.

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><p>John had taken up a small studio not far from Baker Street in order to give himself some time to sort his situation out. He couldn´t afford it for long, but he really didn´t have the patience to start looking for a long-term lease right now.<p>

He had been shocked by the events three weeks ago, and still was. First the realization, or at least a hint of it, that he might have deeper feelings towards his flatmate than what he had thought. And then have that very same flatmate throwing him out for no apparent reason in no courteous or even comprehensible way. He had been both surprised and hurt, to the extent that when he had stopped over to get some of his stuff from Baker Street and heard Sherlock was home, he had opted not to meet him. Childish? Perhaps, but John didn´t feel any need to look the tall man in the eye right now.

To get the recent events out of his mind he had worked more than usual. They exchanged no words with Sarah about their conversation, and John preferred it that way. His nights at the clinic often extended past the official working hours; partly because he had taken up more patients, partly because he dreaded sitting in the small flat by himself, staring at the telly or the wall. John had decided to move on though, no matter what it took; he had decided to put Sherlock Holmes behind him. Eventually, he knew he would.

He was on his way to his flat after a particularly long day, and all he hoped was to be in bed and asleep as soon as possible. He grabbed a cab contrary to his usual habits - underground was cheaper but tonight he couldn´t be asked. As the car pulled in front of his new flat he thought for a second he saw movement in the window behind which his room was, which was enough to raise his alert levels. He got out of the car, paid the cabbie and took another look at the perfectly still window; nothing.

Still cautious he made his way up the stairs and pushed his door open. It opened without a sound and revealed only a dark, empty room. John realized he had been holding his breath and let it out with a long sigh. He really should sleep more. He stepped into the flat and in an instant saw movement in the corner of his eye. The soldier instincts kicked in, and fast as a cat he turned around, managing to grab the figure behind him and pushed him roughly against the wall, locking the intruder´s arm behind his back.

It was dark so it wasn´t the stranger´s physics but his voice which made Watson realize in an instant who it was.

"A bit rough, John?"

John stepped back, releasing the tall man from his awkward position. "Sherlock. What the _hell_ are you doing here?" The anger was more than visible in his voice.

Sherlock stood only some tens of centimeters from him, straightening his clothes, and even in the dark John was able to feel his stare. "Nice to see you too, John." His voice was completely neutral, stripped of any emotion.

"Is it?" He grunted, and switched the light on. When he saw him, he startled a bit - Sherlock looked gaunt but his eyes were burning with an almost feverish glow. "Christ, Sherlock, when was the last time you ate?" He couldn´t help the question escaping from his lips.

_remember, you´re not supposed to care anymore_

Sherlock snorted. "Don´t worry, Mrs. Hudson saw to that."

John looked at him, still angry. "I didn´t say I care, I was just worried you ate my supper after breaking into my flat." He walked to the fridge, took out a plate and tossed it into the oven to warm. "Why are you here, Sherlock?"

Sherlock walked to the window, his hands behind his back, and glanced out. "Lovely neighborhood."

"No it´s not." John´s eyes never left him, trying to figure out what on earth Sherlock was doing in his apartment.

"John.." As he turned to face John the setting was suddenly very similar to the one at Baker Street. John could see he was looking for words, but had no idea what he was after.

Sherlock looked at John with an intense, almost frantic stare, and he could have sworn he saw that same flicker in his eyes that he had three weeks ago. Only this time he was able to put a name to it, and the name was fear.

"John, I am very sorry for what I said." His voice, however, remained even. Quiet, but even.

"Then why did you say it?" John saw he was sincere - as sincere as he could be - but he wasn´t going to let this drop so easily. "Why would you kick me out, with no explanation or reason, after two years of what at least to me seemed relatively functional flat-sharing? " He felt his anger rising.

Sherlock didn´t turn his eyes away. "I was wrong, John, and I apologize."

"Bloody right you were wrong! But _why_ would you do it, Sherlock, why? For Christ ´s sake, I was foolish enough to think we were friends!" He almost shouted the last words.

What Sherlock did next surprised both of them. With three long steps he closed the distance between them, grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled John´s face close to his own, so close that when he spoke his next words in a barely audible voice to John it was loud and clear.

"I was - am - afraid, John. Something is happening to me and I haven´t got a clue what is going on."

John felt his breath on his skin, their faces only centimeters apart, and was suddenly very, very aware of his own increased heartbeat and the strength with which Sherlock was holding his shoulders. "What does that have to do with me?" His own voice husky, just as quiet as Sherlock´s.

"It´s you, John.. I´m afraid of you."

Sherlock had barely muttered the last words when John suddenly grabbed him on the waist and with his other hand pulled his face closer to a rough, almost violent kiss, simultaneously pushing him backwards against the wall. Sherlock lifted his hands from the level of John´s shoulders on the both side of his head, devouring him with a passion before unknown to him. When his back met the wall and his body pressed between it and John, he felt exhilarated, almost intoxicated; it suddenly all made sense to him. His distraction, his obsession, his confusion.

They kissed hungrily as if all the desire in both of the had been bottled up for this moment. John´s hands traveled on Sherlock´s lean frame, fast but strong, searching and feeling every inch of the body he hadn´t fully realised how much he needed until now. This was met with touches at least as demanding as his as Sherlock explored every muscle, bone and joint he could get his hands on with the intensity of a man whose hunger needed to be satisfied in an instant. His hands were delicate but determined, and as he slipped them under John´s shirt to pull it off it seemed like the only logical thing to do.

John was not so sensitive in his actions, instead of unbuttoning Sherlock´s shirt he merely tore it open; the sound of the few detached buttons dropping on the floor was hidden in the heavy breathing of the two men tangled in each other. After undressing Sherlock´s torso he broke the kiss for a while and took a half a step behind to marvel him; Sherlock was an unexceptionally beautiful man, slim but not overly so, the fine lines of his muscles drawing delicate lines to the pale skin, now decorated with small pearls of sweat. His chest was moving in the rhythm his heavy breath, and his eyes, clear and piercing and burning , set his face alive in a completely new way.

John let his eyes rise to meet his. "You sure about this?"

Sherlock gave him a wicked smile, took his hand and placed it on his fully grown erection. "You´re the doctor, what do the symptoms tell you?"

Sherlock pulled his mouth back to his, violently exploring it with is tongue while they continued stripping each other, still standing against the wall. It was pure lust, as it only can be when they were both releasing emotions neither of them had fully recognized, and there simply wasn´t enough of the other for them. John felt his long fingers on his belt, opening it and proceeding to his pants; it became more and more difficult for him to practice any kind of self-control. He wanted him so badly, _needed _him - and judging by Sherlock´s heavy, hot breathing and the determination with which he was proceeding, he knew he wasn´t the only one to be feeling that way.

Naked now, he unbuttoned what was still to be unbuttoned from Sherlock´s skinny jeans, pulled them down and turned him around, slamming him against the wall with perhaps slightly more force than would have been required. Sherlock didn´t seem to mind, on the contrary; his hand was now on John´s erection, the long fingers curling around it and making John insane with lust for the man in front of him. He put his hands on his lean hips, feeling the bones underneath the hot skin, and murmured into his ear. "I don´t have anything.." He pulled Sherlock closer to him. "Tell me if it hurts."

"That would be boring, wouldn´t it.." His voice delivered the grin on his face.

John spat in is hand and rubbed the end of his cock before thrusting himself into him. He felt his body tensing when he first did, accompanied with a sharp breath; but soon the gorgeous frame he was holding relaxed again and he was able to continue, first carefully but then, as Sherlock´s response so encouraged, harder, holding him now on his waist and other hand resting on his against the wall, balancing both of them. He fucked him until the groans indicated he was climaxing and then let himself go as well, pressing himself against him like a drowning man so as not to fall as his knees were about to give in.

They stood like that for a while, Sherlock leaning on the wall and John leaning on him, and nothing had never felt more right.

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><p>They sat on the floor, still slightly sweaty.<p>

"Well, that was unexpected." John´s voice did not however sound surprised but content.

Sherlock glanced at John and grinned. "I suppose so."

"Even for you?"

"Especially for me."

A moment of silence followed, broken only by the sounds of cars driving by.

"So, I take it you will come back to Baker Street?"

John couldn´t help a small laughter escaping him.

"What´s so amusing?"

John smiled, stood up and held his hand out to help Sherlock up, too. "I guess we won´t be needing two bedrooms anymore."

-FIN-


	7. Chapter 7

Three months after their physical encounter things have obviously changed a lot between the two men.

Sherlock is no longer bothered by the fact that John occupies his minds more than anyone ever has. Instead he accepts it, even embraces it, and by doing so he is able to have him existing both in his life and his heart simultaneously with his work - the thoughts of John don´t compete for his attention anymore, and therefore don´t interfere with his work. It´s almost like there are two lanes on the highway that is his brain; the other reserved for John and the other for work, and they run side by side, and he no longer knows which one is more important - maybe there is no difference.

John, on the other hand, feels a level of balance he hasn´t in a long while, possibly ever. Although their relationship is not the traditional domestic kind and never will be, he knows Sherlock is there and is his, as much as he ever will be anyone´s. And John is his.

A couple would be an inadequate word to describe the unit they form. The word would leave out all the finesse and complexity of the companionship they share; the remarkable feeling of connection which veils them both. It would also be inaccurate in a sense that they are not, in their daily life and actions, like your average lovers; they don´t go to the cinema, do each other´s laundry, leave romantic notes in each other´s pockets and all that. Sometimes they don´t talk for days - mainly because Sherlock has either disappeared or just chooses not to - and they don´t sleep in the same bed every night - but it is all good, and neither one of them would have it otherwise.

Not many people know of them. Not because they want to hide it, but because there is no way of explaining to the world what they are and what they share. Mrs. Hudson saw it on them as soon as John moved back in; she merely smiled, took both of their hands in hers and squeezed tightly. That was the closest anyone could ever come to understand.

So even if a lot has changed under the surface, not much is visible to the outside spectator. An occasional, almost accidental touch here and there; a light brush of lips on John´s temple when he is reading his medical book and Sherlock leans over to see the interesting anatomical image that has caught his eye; the complete and utter surrender and presence in both of them when they make love.

Nothing is same in the world anymore, and yet everything is more right than it ever has been.

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><p>thank you all for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoyed this story as much as i did writing it.<p> 


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